This Ain't Goodbye
by Kailene
Summary: Jack gets it, he really does. It goes against every single fiber of his being, every single thing that Jack has vowed. Every single thing that Jack is. He may not like it, not one little bit, but he understands. Tag to S2E23, "MacGyver MacGyver"


**Author's Notes:** I actually started this right after the season 2 finale ended, not believing that Jack would just let Mac leave without going and talking to him. It's taken me forever, and it took on a life of its own, but I was finally able to finish it and make a check mark next to a WIP.

Great big thanks go out to Gib for all her help and advice, they were so much appreciated. And to RiatheMai, for always taking my words and making them better.

~~~~MacGyver2016~~~~

 **Go Bag** – Emergency preparedness bag packed in advance, containing items one would require to survive for several days in the event of a disaster.

 **Charlie Foxtrot** – US Army phonetics, acronym of cluster fuck. A disastrous situation.

Jack closes the door behind himself, pocketing his set of keys as he makes his way across the small entranceway and through the kitchen. He doesn't bother to turn on any lights as he continues down the narrow hallway toward his destination. Jack knows this house like the back of his own hand; he also knows exactly where he's going to find the kid. The distinct sound of what is no doubt the slamming of dresser drawers only serves to confirm Jack's theory of not only where he is, but what his best friend's intentions are since storming out of Phoenix Headquarters after his confrontation with his father.

After Mac quit.

Effective immediately.

Jack runs a hand down his face, fingers rasping lightly against his day old stubble as he lets out a deep sigh. When he was in Delta they had a term—well used and loved by his team—for what this entire year long search has turned into, Charlie Foxtrot. Jack can't think of another word or sentiment that suits this situation. He's still not sure what would have been better. If he never convinced Mac to write that damn letter and to try to find and reconnect with this father in the first place, Mac would have just continued to carry all those unanswered questions and unresolved doubts for the rest of his life. On the flip side, Mac finally has all the information he's been seeking for the last fifteen years, but it came with the emotional equivalent of an IED explosion.

Hindsight being 20/20—another saying from his Delta days—Jack is leaning heavily towards the former, wishing he had taken a page out of Bozer's book that sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

Jack wasn't surprised in the least bit when he overheard Mac tell his father—Oversight, _the bastard_ —that he couldn't work with someone that he didn't trust.

 _Couldn't trust_. That he quit.

In their line of work, _especially_ in their line of work, trust is the building block, the stone number one that everything else is built on. Without it, the uncertainty, the doubt, the second-guessing will fester, take root, and grow. You would be people working a case instead of the cohesive team that you need to be in order to stay alive.

Jack thinks back to the early weeks of his and Mac's partnership back in the Sandbox. The two of them may have been working out of the same book, but they were so, so far from being on the same page. It took a way-to-close call in a tucked away back alley to put them on the same precarious stepping stone in the path to the solid unit that they are today.

So, yeah, Jack knows. He understands. He even agrees. But, _hell_ , did it still feel like a shot to his gut when those words were delivered in Mac's firm and final voice.

He watched as Mac stalked down the hall, his gaze never leaving his young partner's back until Mac turned the corner and stepped out of his sight, severing that connection. Taking his—former?—partner down to the main exit and out of the building for what would be the last time.

Jack may very well respect the position of Oversight, and after working beside him in Mexico, he might even think that James is one heck of a Field Agent, but that's where the respect and niceties end.

As a father…?

After Mac left, Jack turned his head and glared at the senior MacGyver, letting all the anger he felt seep into the hard edge of his gaze, the clench of his jaw, and the tightening of his fists, but James didn't even notice.

The head of Phoenix stood still and shocked in the middle of the War Room, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and Jack had let a proud smirk twist his lips. His boy— _Jack's_ boy—had put that look there. Mac was the one to take a bit of the wind out of the sails of a man who Jack was certain never thought he did any wrong. James' sole focus stayed on the empty corridor and the glass doors that had just shut—both literally, and Jack was pretty sure, figuratively—between him and his son.

James might not have seen his expression, but Matty did, stepping right in front of him and blocking his path as soon as Jack stepped around Riley to head into the War Room to have his own personal chat with the man. The move pulled Jack up short and before he could even growl out the warning comment to her that was on the tip of his tongue, she was speaking, voice low and meant only for his ears.

" _Jack, go. Take care of our boy,"_ she told him. _"You quitting as well, or worse, getting fired or brought up on assault charges, isn't going to help Mac. Do I make myself clear? Do you understand me?"_

And he did. The unsaid message was loud and clear; _James isn't going to give up that easily, isn't just going to let him go. My hands are tied, yours, are not. Best way for you to keep protecting Mac is to keep an eye on Oversight… From the inside._

And that's exactly what he's going to do.

His Overwatch duty isn't constrained to just ensuring Mac's safety from insurgents and rebels, or in simply keeping him in one piece while the two of them are on Ops or out in the field in countries scattered around the globe.

Or occasionally, even from himself.

And though it looks like they won't be employed together, for the current moment anyways or for the foreseeable future, it most certainly does not end when the two of them are physically apart.

No way in hell.

But just thinking of that… Thinking of his new reality…

 _Not_ driving across town after he wakes up in the morning and letting himself into Mac's house, a house that's become his second home.

 _Not_ sharing breakfast before they hop into his GTO or his Shelby, or on the rare occasion, Mac's jeep, laughing and joking as they make their commute through the bustling highways of Los Angeles.

 _Not_ having his best friend by his side, at his back, as he goes head to head with the latest lowlife hell bent on destroying innocent lives.

 _Not_ having that balance, that grounding force, that calm voice of reason and logic.

 _Not_ ending his day with warm beer and classic movies around a roaring fire, the two of them having their own debrief of where they went wrong, where they could do better, grateful and blessed that they survived one more mission, one more day… _Together_.

It is an ache and loss so deep it's a physical pain, a gaping hole inside of him that Jack doesn't know what to do with, how to process or how to ease. But he pushes it down, forces it all into the furthest recesses of his mind. Now is not the time for himself; he knows he'll have plenty of long hours alone to try to deal with it later.

Jack made a vow seven years ago to protect Mac from _all_ threats, regardless of _what_ they were or _where_ they came from—even if that threat was familial.

But that vow doesn't just come from a sense of duty bound honor. It entails so much more than protection at the end of a gun or the swing of a fist. It goes beyond bodyguard, and protector, and best friend, and _brother_ to a word and bond that Jack doesn't even have a name for, and that's what Jack has to care for now.

He leans his body against the doorjamb of his partner's bedroom and takes in the scene before him. The spacious room is in even more disarray than—in Jack's opinion—it usually is. Clothes are strewn about everywhere, and as Jack scans the area it seems like every season is represented—tee shirts, sweatshirts, shorts, jeans—Jack can even see an arm and part of the fur-lined hood to Mac's thermal parka in the mix. They all lay scattered and crumpled about in heaps: on the carpeted floor, piled atop the dresser, and laying over the back of the chair. Each item seemingly considered, thought better of, and then discarded.

In the middle of it all is Mac's old military rucksack, tattered and faded from harsh sun and even harsher sand. Jack hasn't seen the thing since they both returned all those years ago from Afghanistan. The pack lays open, and completely empty, on his partner's bed. Its multiple pouch attachments are all unclipped from the main pack and tossed carelessly onto the mattress beside it, all of them open as well, and as completely empty as the main pack itself.

A black hard-shell suitcase sits behind it, unzipped and propped up against the headboard, and Jack recognizes it as the same one that he helped Mac pick out what seems like a lifetime ago when Nikki had finally agreed to go away with him to Paris. A trip that never did happen… And that's a whole _other_ minefield of hurt and betrayal that Jack's still not all that sure his best friend has completely cleared even today.

Jack spies Mac's canvas Phoenix issue Go Bag balled up on the floor beside the small trash can that Mac has by his work table, and he wonders if that is simply a coincidence of where it landed or if Mac's throw was just a tad short of a basket.

Jack takes in the sight in front of him, the disorganized, disordered, jumble of a mess that borders on desperate and decides that it's probably a pretty good physical representation of the chaos that his partner's usual sharp mind is currently in.

"If you're here to give me your, _he's your dad, you only got but one_ speech, you can save your breath and walk away right now, Jack."

If it were any other day, Jack would feign outrage and offense; give Mac a serious ribbing about just how badly he butchered not only Jack's voice and inflections but how seriously he also mangled the beautiful drawl that is the Texas accent. But as it is, it isn't just any other day so Jack stays silent.

The fact that Mac not only knows that there is someone standing in the doorway, but knows that it's him, despite Mac being turned away from him, body half buried in his closet and surrounded by clothes, settles something inside of Jack. Eases some of the anxiety that's buzzing along his nerves with the fact that despite the emotional turmoil that Mac is in, he's still very much aware of his surroundings and makes what Jack needs to do just a tiny bit easier.

"If you don't, I'm going to give you a detailed diagram complete with formulas and anatomical pictures as to where exactly you can put those words. Because right about now I have one dad too many and I don't want to hear any of Jack Dalton's words of wisdom.

"And," Mac bites out as he continues from inside the closet. Jack can hear the sharp, plastic snap of hangers hitting each other as Mac shifts them roughly about. "If you're here to tell me how I need to _calm down_ , how I need to _rethink things with a clearer head_ … How you _never go into an Op emotionally compromised_ … That there were _extenuating circumstances that led him to leave me_ …"

That last part is growled out and something slams from within the closet. To Jack it sounds suspiciously like a fist hitting wood. "Well, you can refer yourself back to door number one. And if you're here to stop me…"

Mac spins around at that and faces him. "Well, then, we'll finally get an answer to which one of us would've won that fight the first day we met if Colonel Martinez hadn't come in and broken us up… And I'll tell you right now, I'm not going to play fair."

Mac pulls himself up to his full height, defiance written in every line of his lean body: muscles taut, jaw set, hand fisted around the blue plaid shirt that he's holding so tight the skin over his knuckles is practically translucent.

But it's the look on Mac's face that nearly does Jack in. His eyes are red rimmed, bright and wet, pale blue swimming with torment, misery, and just utter agony. His expression pleading as he holds Jack's gaze.

Pleading for Jack to take all of this away, a last minute Hail Mary, save him from the bad like he always does—like he _always will._ Or pleading with Jack to say _Damn right I'm stopping you,_ wanting Jack to make that one move, _any_ move, however small that Mac can interpret as a first strike. That he can take as permission, a hold harmless to lash out, turn all the emotion and pain burning inside of him into an outward physical entity.

Which one Mac is pleading for Jack to do Jack's not at all sure; he doesn't even think that Mac himself knows.

Never before has Jack missed his own father so much. He wishes he were still alive and only a phone call away because he wants to tell him that he gets it.

He finally understands that look his dad got on his face when Jack was young and he was angry and confused and hurting, that look younger Jack could never decipher. He finally understands what his dad meant when he told a slightly older Jack years later, _"You'll understand one day, son."_

One day is now because Jack is pretty certain he's wearing the exact same expression at this very moment. He knows precisely that it was anguish and heartache and complete and utter _helplessness_ that his dad was feeling because that's exactly what's roiling around inside of him right now like a summer storm raging across the Texas prairie.

He knows that it's the feeling of wanting to raze Heaven and Hell to fix this, to take away all the pain from the kid who means more to you than yourself.

But knowing without a doubt that this time you can't.

That this time, as hard as it's going to be, as much as it goes against every single fiber of your being, everything that you are, you have to let him walk away. You have to let him go so he can figure it out for himself and deal with it in his own way, on his own terms. Leaving you to stand down, stand aside in silent support.

Jack wishes that his dad were still alive so he can ask him just how he found the strength when he was left on the sidelines, anxious and worrying, lost and wondering if what you were doing was the right thing. When he was left to do nothing while it felt like you were going to shatter apart—ask his dad how he survived.

Mostly, he wants to tell his dad that he loves him just one more time.

Jack takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, pulling himself away from his spiraling thoughts and putting his focus back on Mac.

"I'm gonna just jump right over those first two for a minute and go straight away to door number three," Jack drawls, smooth and easy, like the two of them are just kicking back and shooting the shit like they always do. "Because I do have to admit I have always wondered which one of us would've won that throw down. I mean, I thought for sure that I had it in the bag. I was positive that my first punch was not only gonna take you down, but knock you right the hell out, man. But no, the skinny little bomb nerd with the silly hamburger name wasn't gonna go down that easy. Kid's a fighter. He's a hellova lot tougher than he looks."

He gives Mac a pointed look, hoping that he will understand what he's trying—probably poorly—to say. And if Mac doesn't get it now, Jack knows the words will come back to Mac when he's on a more even keel. Mac is fluent in _Jack-speak_ after all. He'll decipher the meaning behind what Jack said:

That Jack has faith him. That even though this is personal—as personal as it gets—and it doesn't feel like it now, Mac will get through this. He'll figure it out just like he's done with every other situation he'd been in, in his young life.

"But… that question will have to be left for the ages to ponder and the Bards to sing about because that won't be being answered today… I'm not here to stop you, bud," Jack says as he keeps Mac gaze. "And as an aside, if we do ever get into it—or actually this applies to _anything_ for that matter. I even _think_ that you're not givin' it your all? If you ever don't use any and all ways at your disposal to try to win—and we both know that ole bucket is infinite—I'm gonna be a might bit pissed and will kick your ass from here to Sunday just on principal alone. Capisce? You hearin' me, brother?"

Mac just scoffs at him and folds his arms across his chest. Jack doesn't miss the quiet hiss his partner makes as his hand, no doubt the one that he punched the wall with, brushes up against his upper arm and Mac places it on top of the other instead of tucking it underneath. "I'm leaving, Jack."

The words come out clipped and abrasive, laced with a challenge, and Jack ignores it all—and the stab they make at his already fracturing heart—knowing that it's the hurt talking; it's not really directed at him.

"I know you are."

"Alone."

"Yeah… Yeah, I know that too, bud." He really does. Jack may not like any of this, not one little bit, but he does know that Mac needs to go by himself.

"Alone, as in by myself, Jack," Mac explains further, voice imploring. "Not your version of alone where you shadow me at a thousand yards with your sniper rifle slung across your back and a Glock in your hand."

Jack wants to say, _'And? What's the problem with that?'_ immediately followed up by, _'You're forgetting about my combat knife tucked at my hip and my two back-up pistols.'_ But he's smart enough to know that now is not the time for glib comments and that the statement would not be welcome in the least bit so he keeps it to himself.

Jack pushes away from the doorway. He keeps his gait slow and steady, the way he used to approach the scared, skittish horses when he was working with them back home on the ranch, as he steps up right into Mac's personal space. The analogy to his best friend's current state isn't lost on Jack. If anyone else were watching it would appear that Mac doesn't move, but Jack's not just anybody and he doesn't miss the minute shift in muscle as his partner redistributes his weight in preparation for an attack. It makes Jack sick to his stomach that things have come to this between them.

Jack gently grabs the wrist of Mac's injured hand, lifting it away from his body to get a better look at it. Mac stays silent throughout, but Jack can feel his partner's eyes on him the entire time as he works.

Mac's knuckles are already turning a pale purple, the skin split in places and still bleeding sluggishly. It's not all that swollen and Jack can't feel any bones move as he palpitates the area along the top of his hand, so he knows that it's not broken. For that, he's grateful. It's going to be sore a hell for awhile, but Mac won't lose use of it or end up in a cast. Jack's been there, done that—on more than one occasion—and it's not fun in the least.

"Y'got lucky, brother; nothin's broken. We'll put some ice on that before you go; it'll help take some of that swelling down, help a bit with the pain and bruising, too."

"Jack…"

"I know, Mac. I know, you have to leave," Jack says quietly, looking back up at him. He tugs at the shirt that Mac still has in a death grip. "Gimme this."

" _Jack_ …"

"C'mon, now," Jack encourages as he tugs on the shirt for emphasis. "Hand it over."

Mac releases the shirt reluctantly, and Jack can see the confusion and skepticism on his face as Jack takes it and walks further into his bedroom. He grabs the black suitcase as he makes it to the other side of the bed and puts it on the floor out of the way. Wherever Mac ends up, Jack can't picture him traveling by commercial jet or by train, or even by bus for that matter. They're too easily traceable and he knows Mac goal is to get away, fly under the radar as much as possible, and a standard suitcase will be too cumbersome for whatever mode of transportation his partner finds.

Jack pulls Mac's pack closer to himself instead; it's lightweight and can hold a multitude of items on top of being comfortable. Plus it's easy to carry and durable as all hell and Jack decides that it's the best option.

He flips open the top flap and then takes a moment to survey the clothes that Mac has tossed about. He grabs the cargo pants that are hanging on the bedpost. The tannish, mustard, burnt pumpkin colored ones that Jack never has been able to figure out exactly what color to call them, but they're Mac's favorite—the many pockets being the reason Jack is sure—so they'll go in the bag. A couple pairs of jeans are added to the pile and Jack grabs a pair or two of shorts just in case, followed up by about a weeks worth of tee shirts.

Between multiple deployments and constant travel for undercover work with the CIA, DXS, and now Phoenix, Jack is well versed in packing for efficiency, folding and rolling each item tightly before he expertly tucks them away in the bottom of the bag.

"Jack… What are your doing?"

Jack looks up at Mac with a raised eyebrow before he glances down at the clothes he's currently packing and then back up at his partner.

"Well… unless you plan on washing that outfit you're currently wearing every night, and let's admit it, you are a wunderkind at everything you put your hands on, amigo, save one. After the pink clothing incident of '15 there's a reason that Bozer is in charge of that chore. It looks to me like I'm putting order to the chaos and packing for you. Oh, and cooking," Jack adds as an aside, pointing a finger at Mac. "Wherever you end up you better make sure they have diners and restaurants nearby, or get to battin' those baby blues, because you, brother, can burn water."

"You're just gonna let me leave?" Mac asks hesitantly, his tone filled with disbelief.

"Now, see, there's the thing," Jack starts as he puts down the MIT sweatshirt that he was rolling up and catches and holds Mac's gaze. "Despite the helicopter parenting I may do—"

"There is no _may_ , Jack. You could win Helicopter Parent of the Year."

There's a touch of a sad note at the end and a little catch in Mac's voice as he finishes speaking. Jack gives Mac a smile, but even as he's doing it, Jack knows that it falls far, far short from his usual cocky, shameless attitude that he's aiming for.

James is a top-notch idiot on top of being a world class ass, Jack thinks. He would be honored to call Mac son. But family doesn't end in blood and blood doesn't necessarily make you family, so Jack is confident and so damn happy about the place he holds in Mac's life. James has absolutely no clue as to the depth of what he has missed out on by playing puppet master instead of being a participant.

"As I was saying, I will fully admit that I may be a _bit_ over protective, but I do know that you—and Riley—are adults. And I also know that you are both smart as hell and more than capable of taking care of yourselves should the need arise, and can both kick some serious ass when need be," Jack says with a genuine smile on his face and pride in his voice.

"So, see…it's not really up to me, or is it my right, or my call for that matter, to not _let_ you—either of you—do something," Jack tells him. "Am I gonna give you advice, whether you want it or not? Damn straight, book smart isn't everything and good ole Jack has been around the block a few times and knows a little about a lot of things. Am I going to make sure you're safe? Absolutely. Unquestionably. _Always_. You never doubt that for even a nanosecond, you understand? But I'm not your keeper, kiddo. You have free will. What you do is your decision."

Mac lets out a bark of laughter, dark and bitter, devoid of all humor and the proverbial dam bursts.

"Do I really, Jack? _Have I ever_ , since I was _ten years old_ really made _any_ of my own decisions? Had control over _any_ of my life? Even my grandfather lied to me, for crying out loud!" Mac sneers as he throws his arms out wide and starts pacing the small space.

"And I'm sure that Colonel Martinez was in on the entire charade as well. You heard what he said that day, that if he'd had his way he would've tossed us both out. Fighting in the ranks? Damn straight we should've been facing charges, but we didn't, did we?

"The same with the episode with the football field back at school in Mission City. How about every single time that we've simply been given a warning or a note put in our files when we've both _very_ clearly disobeyed direct orders? Or have been the direct cause of a major incident? Should I go on? I have an entire catalogue of memories I can draw from. Do you see a pattern here! Want to take a wild shot in the dark as to why exactly all of that was?"

Mac spins to face him face flushed with anger, and wild blue eyes bore into him. But Jack knows that the question is simply rhetorical. He knows that his partner isn't actually looking for an answer. This break in his best friend's usual calm and in control demeanor is much needed and has been a very long time coming and so Jack stays silent.

After all, the answers to all of those questions go without saying and they both know it. Hell, Jack had all those same thoughts the moment he met the man and he knows that not only are all of Mac's suspicions warranted, but most likely are all one hundred percent true. So he holds Mac's gaze, digs deep into all his training so his expression stays calm and understanding, exudes none of the anger he himself is feeling and lets his partner go wherever he needs to let the healing begin.

" _Every_ _single thing_ that I have ever done… _Every single decision_ I have _ever_ made—all my schooling, being accepted at MIT, joining the army, training for EOD, getting hired at DXS, Phoenix… He's had his hands in it. _All of it!_ I mean, was Pena in on this entire thing, too? Did I really manage to land working with the best damn EOD Trainer there ever was because of my own merit or because _he_ arranged it? Hell, even us… My father has had a hand in _all of it_ , helping to _guide me_ , he says."

By the end of his speech—rant, tirade, catharsis—Mac is breathing heavy, muscles rippling with tension and emotion as he leans against one of the walls with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, looking defeated and drained.

The anger that has been singing through Jack's veins ever since the roadside revelation is starting to spark bright again. Jack realizes that he's going to have a very hard time keeping his word to Matty and stay away from Oversight.

In that instant in the hallway of Phoenix, it hadn't been his boss stopping him. Jack knows the official 'Director' hat came off and that it was two surrogate parents worried and concerned for the kid that they both thought of as their own.

No words may have been spoken, but a silent agreement between two long time friends was made of what Jack would—and wouldn't—do where the elder MacGyver was concerned, and Jack is loathe to break his word and make things that much worse for his partner. Both his father and his grandfather had instilled in him that the measure of a man is in the truth of his words, and Jack isn't about to forget the lessons of the two men that he still idolizes.

But his grandfather had also taught him, during those long, hot summers workin' as a roughneck on his crew, that there was always a way around keeping your promise and doin' what, in your heart you know, needs doin. Grampa Dalton was sneaky like that.

Like Jack just said to Mac, he knows a little about a lot of things. There are many ways to get a point across while still keeping your promise, and that keeps you on the proper side of safe and legal. So, yeah, he and Macgyver senior would be having words very soon.

Jack walks back around the bed and crosses the room to where Mac is standing. He leans on the wall right beside him, close enough so that their shoulders are just touching but not enough to crowd his best friend, leaving him an easy exit if he's not quite ready for such close contact, even if it is Jack himself.

"I want you to listen to me real close, now. Whatever else you are questioning as real, whatever else you may doubt, you remember one thing… The two of us are one hundred percent real, the genuine article." Jack wags a finger between them, tapping a knuckle on Mac's shoulder as he does, knowing that his partner is listening even though his eyes are still closed. "The _only thing_ that James had a hand in when it comes to the two of us is the introduction. Which is the _only_ check plus in the pro column for that son of a bitch in my book."

Jack lets off a huff of air, and shakes his head, chastising himself. He really is trying to keep his opinion to himself where that man is concerned. Worried that like Riley, his opinion may sway Mac one way or the other where Mac's dad is concerned. As much as he despises the man, that's not what Jack wants to do.

"Its fine, Jack," Mac assures him, rolling his head to the side and looking at him. Ever on the same page as usual. "Even before you met him, I knew he was never going to make your Christmas card list. So please, don't start keeping your opinions to yourself, alright? That's not who we are."

 _That's not what I need_ remains unsaid but it is loud and clear in the quiet of the room and Jack nods his heads in understanding and agreement.

"Me signing on for another tour in Afghanistan with the condition of being your exclusive Overwatch… That was _my_ decision, brother. _Mine_. No one suggested or ordered me to do that," Jack says, steel lacing every one of his words. "I did that because I wanted to. Because I saw just how damn important you are and all the good you could do for this here spinning rock we live on and for all the decent folk who call it home.

"Putting us together could have backfired on your old man. It could have gone the complete other way. Hell, it almost did. And, you know, the man may be a genius, and have his theorems and his charts and his formulas to cook himself up a perfect _'soldier, scientist'_ soup but that's all a bunch of gobbledygook. You can't predict people, man. Too many variables to consider. Sure you can read 'em a bit, make a guesstimate, but even that's not a sure bet. Our partnership, our friendship… That's all us, homey. Me and you. What we have, _we made_. Not him in any way, you hear me?"

Jack stops himself there, doesn't voice any of the other hundreds of things that he wants to say. He doesn't want to push his best friend. He wants to give him time to digest the words and work them over in his big brain like he does with all things.

The quiet between them is comfortable, companionable, and for that Jack is immensely grateful.

"You know," Mac says thoughtfully, finally breaking the silence, "if this whole spy gig doesn't work out for you, you should really consider a job with Hallmark…that was beautiful man."

"Oh, okay… I see. That's how it's gonna be then, huh? Pour my heart out to you and you're just gonna pick on good ole Jack. Uh huh… Alrighty then." Jack steps away and starts to walk past his partner, but it's all for show and they both know it. There's no heat or hurt in his words, no recrimination. Jack's happy to see a tiny bit of the old Mac peeking through and he'll take all the ribbing the kid wants to dish out if it'll keep that sparkle in his eye.

"And what have we discussed about you talking about yourself in the third person?" Mac calls after him.

"What's that now?" Jack tosses over his shoulder. "Jack is going to keep talking about Jack any way that Jack wants because it makes Jack happy."

"Jack… is an idiot," Mac say dryly before his voice takes on a serious tone that's full of emotion. "Seriously, Jack…that… What you just said?" Mac swallows thickly and nods his head. "I appreciate that more than I can ever put into words. All of it. I do know, Jack. And I don't doubt any of that. I don't doubt _us_ …in any way. It's just…"

Mac shrugs and trails off. Jack doesn't push, or try to prompt him in any way to continue; he just stays quiet and lets his partner collect his thoughts. Mac crosses the room and pulls the desk chair out, flipping it around. He falls heavily onto the seat and drops his head onto his folded arms.

And Jack can't sit quiet any longer, can't just sit still and silent and do nothing when his brother is hurting so much.

"Mac," he says gently, "talk to me, man. C'mon."

"He told me the real reason that he left," Mac finally responds softly, head still pillowed in the circle of his arms.

Jack is not surprised by the news. He suspected Mac finally plied the actual reason out of his long-lost, negligent father while the two of them were together with Walsh in the lab. Mac was extremely quiet and withdrawn the entire trip back to Los Angeles for Mexico, choosing the darkness and solitude of the farthest corner of the Phoenix jet over sitting even remotely close to either Jack or his father.

And wasn't that just a joyous and not at all tense and awkward, long-ass flight back home.

"You mean James' explanation of wanting to protect you from the dangers of his job all the while maneuvering you right into said job was a load of malarkey?" Jack asks. "Shocking."

"Yeah," Mac agrees. "After the lab caught fire—"

"You mean after you _set_ the lab on fire, with you still on the inside, with not only the fire, but no escape route?" Jack may not have been there, but he knows Mac, so how exactly the fire got started is a no-brainer. "We've really got to work on you being on the _outside_ when you go all Pyro, you know."

Mac looks up at him then, head tipped a bit to the side as if what Jack just said was a foreign concept—and well, this is Mac they're talking about, so it kind of is.

"I knew you'd be there in time, Jack."

Mac says it easy as you please. No hesitation, no doubt, a simple statement of fact. _Jesus Christ_. The confidence that Mac has in him scares the hell out of him some days.

"Damn straight I will be," Jack tells him fiercely.

Even with all the tells that the kid is giving away, Jack already knows that whatever Mac is about to tell him is going to piss him off. He knows that a trip to the gym is going to be in order so that he can try to work off some of the anger and frustration that Mac's revelation is going to bring. Not the one at Phoenix either, because Jack knows he doesn't possess that much self-control. He won't be strong enough to resist the temptation of jumping in the elevator and going up a few more floors to work his frustration out face to face with its direct cause.

But Jack is still nowhere near prepared for what Mac tells him is the real reason his father left all those years ago.

"He left because of me. It's my fault, Jack." Mac says. The words are so soft, so broken that even in the silence of the room Jack has to strain to hear them. There's a hitch in the middle, cracks and warbles in some of the words, and Jack can see the struggle Mac has to try to bring his voice back to something resembling steady and even. "Said I look so much like… l-like my mom. That every time he looked at me… I made him angry. So, he had to leave."

Jack closes his eyes and silently counts to ten. When he gets to the end, he starts again, and then again. Each time he picks a different, more obscure language from his repertoire to use—because, yes, despite how it appears and what the others think, he does know quite a few. He keeps the count going until he can feel the rage that wants to explode out of him subside and quiet. Then he counts one more time just for good measure.

Not that his partner would have noticed any outburst that Jack would have made.

Mac is slouched over in the chair, unmoving. His bangs have fallen down over his forehead from how his head is tipped, chin and part of one cheek resting on one of his folded arms. His unblinking eyes are locked somewhere in the middle distance, his mind lost a million miles and probably a lifetime ago.

More than any other person on this planet, Jack knows just what this young man in front of him is capable of, how talented and skilled and brave and smart he is. But in this instance, he looks like a lost little boy, and all Jack wants to do is wrap him up in a blanket, hold him close, and protect him from the world.

"Mac…"

There's no answer. No acknowledgement whatsoever. So Jack tries again, pitching his voice with a gentle authority that he hopes will reach wherever his best friend has gone away to. If Jack accomplishes nothing else today, it's going to be to make sure that Mac realizes, _accepts_ , that none of what happened is his fault. That he is innocent of all wrongdoings and should feel absolutely no guilt.

And Jack has no clue on how he's going to accomplish that.

He walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge closest to the chair where Mac is still sitting. He runs both hands down his face, and drops his forearms onto his thighs and leans forward, taking a deep steadying breath.

"Mac… Hey, look at me. Please." Mac doesn't look at him, exactly. It's just a slow blink of his eyes, and Jack likens it too Riley's rigs coming back online after she gives them all a reboot. It's not much, not what Jack's looking for, but it's something and Jack'll take something over nothing any day of the week.

"You know that's not on you, right?" _Please say yes_. _God, please say yes_. "You are _not_ the cause of any of this. _None_ of this is your fault."

Mac simply shrugs. Or, that's what Jack supposes it's meant to be. It's a barely-there, half-hearted, indifferent shift of a shoulder muscle. The confident, self-assured young man that Jack has grown to love like his own is nowhere to be seen. It wraps a tight band around Jack's heart and he has to squeeze his eyes shut tight for a moment.

Jack reaches out and puts a comforting hand on Mac's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze and Jack very nearly looses his hard fought composure when Mac shifts ever so slightly so that his head is resting against Jack's forearm.

"I will give him that grief knocks you for a loop," Jack begins quietly. No one else is around. Jack spoke to Riley and Bozer before he headed over here, asking them to hang back and wait for his text, give him time alone with Mac. So the house is empty save for them, but somehow the hushed voices seem to match the heavy weight of the conversation.

"It can make you do and say things that you'd never in a million years ever think of doin'. And I can't even begin to understand how that all must multiply when it's a spouse. Hell, after Pops died, I—"

"Don't!" Mac's voice cracks out, sharp as a whip as his head snaps up to lock eyes with Jack. "Don't you dare compare yourself to _him_. Don't equate what you did in your pain of losing your dad to what my father has done. What he would have continued to do, and _would still be doing_ today if _I_ hadn't sought _him_ out. He would have stayed in the shadows, forever."

Mac takes a deep, shuddering breath but it does him no good; his words come out just as angry as they did before. "Yes, you said you were out of control, angry at the world and most likely self-destructive. But you didn't... The only one you…"

Mac's words stutter and stumble before dying off completely, not able to finish either sentence. Or most likely, Jack thinks, unwilling to say the one word that will sum up completely what James MacGyver has done to him.

"Hurt," Jack supplies gently. Mac turns his head away and Jack doesn't miss the flinch that Mac tries to hide from him at the word and its implications as it pertains to him. "I think the word you're lookin' for, hoss, is hurt… _'I didn't hurt anyone. The only one I hurt was myself.'_ And you'd be wrong about that fact."

Mac looks back at him at his confession, eyes wide and Jack tips his head in acknowledgement and nods.

"I'm not the only one that lost a father that day; my sister did too. She was there the entire time…," he tells Mac, voice thick with emotion. "From the day we got the diagnosis… She handled just about every single detail of every single thing, all by herself while the Farm was sendin' me undercover all over god's green earth. She was right there 24/7/365, had a front row seat for his entire decline. And after he passed… some of the things I said to her…"

Jack shakes his head and it's his turn to look away. He drags both hands roughly down his face, then pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the tears that always want… _still_ want to fall whenever these memories surface. He's long since been forgiven—his little sister has the biggest heart of anyone he knows—but Jack is still ashamed of himself for the way he acted towards her.

"And I bet she kicked your ass for it, too." Mac says, his lips twitching upwards. It's small, just the slightest tip of his mouth, but Jack can tell it's genuine. Mac's words have the desired effect that Jack knows he was trying for and break the somber veil that has settled over them.

"That's an understatement, brother. She ripped me up one side and down the other before forgivin' me." Jack huffs out a chuckle. "Dalton women, man; you don't mess with 'em."

"So, yeah," Jack continues, "I can separate myself from how I personally feel about the man and give him a bit—a tiny bit, mind you—of empathy. That still don't make what he did right, though. Still doesn't take away all the hurt he caused you. Not by a long shot, Mac."

"Jack…" His name is practically a growl, laced with so much frustration and Mac scoots up in the chair to a full sitting position, running both of his hands roughly through his hair. "Damn it. I don't get… What the hell are you trying to tell me to do here?"

"I'm not tryin' to tell you to do anything, here. Freewill, remember?"

" _Jack…_ "

"What I am tryin' for here—poorly, given the confusion written all over your face—is to give that big ol' brain of yours something to chew on while you're on your little walkabout," Jack explains. "I am not, in any way, shape, or form defending him. God knows how much I despise that man for what he's done to you. And for your sake and your sake only will I make a promise to you right here and now that I won't teach him _Jack Dalton_ style what happens when someone hurts my family, but… He does love you, kid."

Mac snorts and the scowl on his face speaks volumes to just how he feels about that statement even before he says a word. "Really…? Could've fooled me. He has a really great way of showing it."

"Yeah, well… Geniuses can be some of the biggest dumbasses that I've ever come across," Jack deadpans, and he chuckles at the affronted glare that's aimed his way.

"He sure did… Does, present tense," Jack corrects himself. "He certainly _does_ have an asinine way of showing it, and went about it all kinds of backwards."

"Jack, how… How, after everything, how can you even say that?" Mac asks him, doubt and irritation coloring each of his words. But Jack can hear the flicker of hope that's also there as well. That little boy that's deep inside of Mac that want's to believe that what Jack is saying is true, that his father really does care for him.

"Because if he didn't love you, he wouldn't have left you," Jack tells him, and quickly holds up his hand to forestall what he knows Mac is going to say. "Yeah, yeah, I know ... How that doesn't make any sense. How it's just something that sentimentalists made up. How it doesn't have any basis in science. But, kiddo, there is no science—or hell, even rhythm or reason—when it comes to emotions and feelings."

Jack pauses for a moment and studies his partner. Mac is watching him intently. His 'thinking face', as Jack likes to call it, is firmly in place, and the former Delta takes that as a clue to continue his explanation, to carry on and keep feeding his best friend the parts and pieces he needs to reconstruct his life.

"He could have stayed. Instead of leaving, he could've stayed with you," Jack says. "The two of you living together in the same house in Mission City, you goin' to school and him working for whatever Phoenix was called back in the day. But that's all it would've been…living together, co-existing as best. Nothing more. He would've been angry and distant, and you would've been angry and confused and hurting…looking for attention any way you could get it. It would have been toxic. And I think all those "incidents" when you were a kid might not've been the harmless mischief or experiments gone wrong that they were. Instead, he choose—"

"To leave," Mac finishes for him, and Jack can see the sad dawning in Mac's eyes as he takes in what Jack is saying.

"Mmhmm," Jack hums. "He did. Left you with your grandpa. You were still confused and angry—rightfully so—but you were also loved, supported, and had stability. He stepped away so you could have that."

"You sound like you're defending him, Jack." Mac bites out and the betrayal Jack can hear in Mac's voice tears at Jack's soul. "He _manipulated_ me."

"I'm not," Jack assures him. "And yes, he did. You have every damn right to be as furious as you are with him. I'm simply trying to play Devil's Advocate. There is a reason why the military drills into us that you never go into an Op emotionally compromised; it'll blind you to everything and everyone else around you. And I know that Pena taught you that as well, why I've tried to teach you that."

"A rule that you have failed to follow on many occasions, partner," Mac reminds him.

"Touche." Jack gives his partner a two-fingered salute because he can't deny it. Not in the least. He leads with his heart; Jack knows this about himself. It helps him see beyond the black and white of their occupation, beyond the bad and evil to that slim line of grey between. It lets him see that sometimes the bad that people do is for all the right reasons and they don't deserve to be punished. But that doesn't mean that it hasn't all come back to bite Jack in the ass, that the emotions that have driven him— _blinded him_ —haven't led him to crash and burn and _hurt_.

And it's that hurt, that devastation of opportunities lost that Jack is trying to save Mac from now.

"That makes us human, brother," Jack says softly, "and humans are both flawed and imperfect. I am not saying that you should be forgivin' the man, or even tryin' to build some sort of relationship with him, or hell, even talk to him ever again. But life is short, and in our business, it's even shorter. I just don't want you wakin' up one day with a belly full of regrets and nothin' but burnt out bridges behind you."

"It's just…" Mac shakes his head and trails off, and this time Jack stays silent, letting his partner gather his thoughts and find the words he needs to explain himself. "My entire life, Jack… He's had a hand in everything I've done. And yes, you and your Devil's Advocacy can come in and say that if he had been present and a part of my life he would have been doing that, would have had a say in what I'd done with my life. But he _wasn't._ He wasn't present. He _wasn't_ a part of my life. He hid in the shadows and moved me around like a goddamn chess piece. I don't know anymore what _I_ have accomplished by my own right, and what _he_ has essentially handed to me. And I can't live like that. I _won't_. I just feel like…"

"Feels like you're on the Rotor and they've just dropped the floor out from underneath you?" Jack supplies helpfully.

"Uh…yeah, sure, Jack. Let's go with that."

"Seriously, brother? Do not tell me you have never experienced the awesomeness and rush of the Rotor?" Jack stares at Mac in disbelieving shock. "Oh course you haven't, misspent youth locked away in a lab."

Jack continues talking. His Texas twang is in full swing as excitement speeds up his words, his hands animated and he rolls right over Mac and what was no doubt going to be objections to Jack's opinion of his younger days.

"That's it! There has got to be one still spinning somewhere. And I'm talkin' the original, mind you, homey," Jack insists. "The heart-pounding, vertigo-inducing, stomach-dropping one where you're spinnin' a million miles an hour and the floor is suddenly _gone_! Not one of these new-fangled, safer ones, either. I mean, come on, where is the fun if the possibility of death or dismemberment isn't there, am I right? I'm gonna get Riles to do some research, find us one on some boardwalk somewhere. We'll all make a vacation out of it. Matty, too, of course… All work and no play make that woman, well… The Hun. We'll—"

Jack's enthusiasm comes to a sudden and screeching halt. The realization that their off-the-cuff, impromptu trips like this one are now no more hits him like a bucket of frigid ice water. Jack stutters and trips over words that he can't find as he tries to find a way to end the thought. To put the idea away in an iron box somewhere so he'll never have to think or deal with it again. "I mean…"

" _Jack_ …" There is so much _feeling_ , so much _meaning_ crammed into the soft utterance of his name that Jack can't help but to look back up at his partner, right into blue eyes that are anxious and worried and suspiciously bright. "I'm leaving the Phoenix, _not_ our friendship. Not our partnership. You do know that—you get why I need to do this, right?"

Desperation surrounds every single word of the question. He didn't try to hide it or play it off as something else, or to cover it up in any way.

He laid it out between them, plain as day for Jack to see. Jack can clearly see beyond the worry and anxiety that there's, though. Can see through the words that Mac said, beyond his need for Jack to really, truly understand what he's doing, why he's going away, to what's been left unsaid. What might as well have been screamed through a bullhorn.

Acceptance.

Fear.

More than anything else, more than needing Jack to understand his reasons for everything that he's doing, Mac needs Jack to truly accept it. Needs him to give it all his okay. Give it his blessing.

To know that this isn't the event that he loses Jack over. That Jack will become yet another person to betray him, to walk out of his life.

Like that will ever happen. _Ever._

Jack has to swallow down the thick emotions that are lodged in his throat before he can get out any words.

"Yeah…" He nods his head and clears his throat, tries again. "Yeah, I get it, Mac. I really, truly do."

It's not a line, or Jack feeding his partner the words he knows Mac really needs to hear. It's all the truth. Honesty and openness in a team, between partners, is what keeps you alive in their line of work and Jack values that above all else.

And if Jack schools his features into total acceptance, forces an easy, carefree smile onto his face to hide the whirlwind of emotions that are currently battering him from all sides, threatening to pull him under and drown him, well…

Jack doesn't consider that lying. That's protection. That's keeping Mac safe. That's keeping Mac safeguarded against things that can harm him so he's safe to be the best that he can be.

That's Jack doing his job.

"Staying here is not an option for you right now, Mac," Jack says, and it's his turn now to make sure that his partner understands that he gets it. Jack may be feeling like he himself has just stepped onto the Rotor, is spinning at 3gs and has had the floor dropped out from underneath his feet, but those are _Jack's_ issues, _Jack's_ problems.

Not Mac's. _Jack's_.

And Jack refuses to _ever_ be the cause, however small, of inflicting pain in Mac's life.

So Jack continues with his explanation, and hopes beyond hope that what he's saying sets his partner's mind, and his heart, at ease, prays that it erases the troubled and concerned look from Mac's gaze.

"You need to get away from any and all things that are connected to, or remind you of, Phoenix, of the life you currently have here. You need to reexamine and take apart everything you've ever done since you were ten years old. You need to clear your head… You need to find _you_ , brother. That's all you need to worry about, all you need to concentrate on. You hearin' me? And I know that you can't do any of that... That you can't heal if you stay at the Phoenix and sunny SoCal," Jack finishes up.

Mac gives him a nod and the slightest of smiles, relief, pure and simple, the only word that Jack can associate with the expression. He watches as some of the tension that Mac was carrying eases, his shoulders lowering and relaxing back into place, the furrowed lines along his brow disappearing, and Jack knows that he's succeeded in his goal.

Jack reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out what he swung by his apartment and grabbed before heading over here. He hands the small package to Mac. Mac's brows immediately furrow.

"What's this?"

"Well now, see," Jack quips, "I can understand your confusion in identifying what that there contraption is that you're currently holding because it is so far and few between that you are in possession of one in their full, intact, and unmarred state."

That gets a huff of an exasperated laugh out of his partner, and Jack smiles. "It's a phone, genius."

"I know it's a phone, dumbass. What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Ah well, the correct, and most often used, by the way, usage for a device of that nature is to call people. Traditional practice has one using one's finger to dial a predetermined phone number to contact someone so you can stay in touch across the miles. So loved ones worry less," Jack tacks on pointedly at the end.

Mac flips the unopened phone package around in his hand, examining the plastic wrapping. Jack doesn't take offense, knows that Mac isn't scanning the packaging for any tampering that Jack may have done, it's just Mac being Mac and doing his thing.

"That's not a Phoenix issue phone, or even DXS," Jack tells him. Mac looks up at him at that statement. He doesn't stop turning the package in his hands over and over, fingers sliding along the edges of the vacuumed pressed plastic. Jack shakes his head at his partner's unconscious actions and makes a mental note to stock one of the small pouches in Mac's gear with a few boxes of paperclips, and maybe a handful of wire for good measure.

"That there is a burner left over from my days at the CIA," Jack tells him, pointing to the phone in Mac's hands. "I bought it at some Mom 'n Pop that's been outta business for years now. It's never been used, never been registered. It's untraceable. Well, untraceable for everyone except Riley, I'm sure. I give you my word, that I won't follow you, that I won't track you, in any way, on one condition."

"What is it?" Mac asks suspiciously.

"That you'll use it to stay in touch with me. I know you need to get away and leave all of this behind..." Jack tries, he really does, to cover up the break in voice with a cough, but he knows damn well that Mac's too sharp, knows him too well to have missed it.

"But I need to know that you're okay," Jack implores, not trying to cover up the concern that he is so keenly feeling.

He may joke with Mac about how much of a danger magnet he is. How he has accumulated more nemeses than most comic book heroes… The list of people who want to do harm—or worse—to Mac is endless. The threat is immense; the danger very real.

Jonah Walsh.

Luis Gomez.

La Ola cartel.

The Ghost.

That psychopath Murdoc…

If any of them were to ever find out that Mac is alone, that he is unprotected and has cut himself off from the safety and might of the Phoenix Foundation…cut himself away from _Jack_?

If they were to ever take him, lay their hands on his boy while Jack is hundreds or even thousands of miles away, the entire world his search grid with not even an inkling of a place to start…Or worse, Jack totally unaware, oblivious to whatever horrors that Mac was facing, all alone.

Never knowing… Never finding him…

They are nightmare scenarios that live in Jack's dreams. But as long as Jack has a breath in his body that is the _only_ place that they will ever live.

"So I want your word that you'll use that… That you'll contact me. It doesn't even have to be a call. You don't even have to talk to me directly. You can text. Hell, we can create our own private language, our own little code using emojis so that nobody who might see the exchanges knows what's being said. That way I'll know that you're okay. Doesn't—It doesn't even need to be everyday—"

"Though that's what you would want." Mac interrupts him. It's not a question at all and Jack simply shrugs, because they both know the truth of those words.

If Jack had his way, they wouldn't even be discussing this because he would be leaving with the kid and be right beside him the entire time.

If Jack had his way, they would be in contact with each other _multiple_ times a day.

If Jack had his way, they would be actually _talking_ to each other multiple times every day so he could hear the kid's voice or using Skype so he could visibly see him and confirm with his own eyes that his boy was safe.

If Jack had his way, none of this would even be happening in the first damn place.

"I'm just gonna plead the fifth on that one," Jack says instead with a shrug of one shoulder. "But I'll settle for once a week."

Because the thought of not having any sort of contact with his best friend—his brother—at all is not something that Jack can fathom, or deal with so if he has to compromise in any way he will. "If I don't hear from you, if you miss a check-in, only then will I go and track you down."

Mac sits himself up straighter in the chair and reaches into his pocket. A tidal wave of relief washes over Jack as Mac pulls out his red knife, and he's grateful beyond words that Mac is agreeing to this small concession.

Only Mac doesn't do what Jack expects him too. And a part of Jack's brain laughs at him for being surprised at that in the least. _When does he ever do as you expect him to, Dalton?_ He doesn't slip the scissor attachment out from the inside of his SWAK, start cutting through the plastic covering and pull out the phone, start playing with all the buttons and functions to see what makes the thing tick.

Instead, he looks straight at Jack, the case holding the phone and his knife each held loosely in either of his hands for Jack to see.

His gaze is intense, expression as serious as Jack has seen it since he walked into the house.

"I have a condition of my own," Mac tells him.

"Alright, cowboy, shoot."

There's no hesitation on Jack's part whatsoever in answering. At this point, he will blindly agree to anything that Mac demands if it means that his partner will stay in touch with him.

"Do you remember Afghanistan, when we were in Paktia Province?"

Of all the things that Mac could have said, asking about their time in the Sandbox didn't even make the top ten. Hell, it didn't even make the list. So it takes a moment for Jack to sort through memories he'd rather leave forgotten until he comes to the one that Mac is talking about.

"Yeah… yeah, I do. That bomb we were scouring that old, wreck of building for. The one I ended up kneeling on… Mr. Careful Careful." Jack huffs out a laugh—laughs because he's still alive so he _can_ laugh about it now—at the remembered name he had, ironically, bestowed on himself and how it had become Mac's moniker for him for weeks afterwards.

"What did I say to you?"

" _You watch my back, I watch yours_." That one's an easy one, and Jack answers immediately. It had become a turning point in their relationship, the base stone that formed into the rock solid foundation of who they are today.

"That's right," Mac says. He's still looking at Jack, blue eyes still intense and serious and Jack watches Mac's adam's apple bob up and down a couple of times, swallowing thickly before he speaks again. "I'm not going to be around to hold up my part of that."

Jack nods his head and it's a quick, almost frenetic movement. Agreeing to, or acknowledging Mac's statement Jack's not at all sure himself what the gesture was meant to mean. All he does know is that saying those words out loud, _again and again_ , certainly isn't helping Jack get used to the idea of Mac leaving. In fact, it's having the total opposite effect. He blinks his eyes against the sting he can feel building behind his eyes while he works hard to keep his teeth from grinding and his jaw from clenching.

"I need you to be careful, Jack," Mac says to him, the word ' _careful'_ stressed and stern, pleading.

"You know me, hombre, I'm—"

His partner abruptly cuts him off before Jack can finish his sentence, before Jack can fall back on his tried and true coping mechanism of smart quips and often times dark humor.

"I do, Jack," Mac tells him, and the softness with which he says it just about breaks Jack's hard fought composure. "You know me better than anyone, better than I know myself… Well, the opposite of that is also true, partner. I do know you Jack. And I can see the front your putting up, can see right through that stoic façade that you've erected around yourself. And I'm sorry, I—"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, bud. Absolutely. Nothing. You hear me?" Jack tells Mac vehemently. "I completely understand why you're doin' this and I support you one hundred percent.

"I know you do, Jack," Mac says and he doesn't need to say anything further, the gratitude and relief and thankfulness of his support and understanding is written all over Mac's face, is clear as day in the timbre of his voice. "But that doesn't mean I don't know just how hard this all is for you."

" _Mac_ …" He drags his best friends name out as he shakes his head. Because, no. Just… No. This is not about him in the least. This is all about Mac. What _Mac_ needs to deal with and sort through, the total upheaval that is his life, get his thoughts back in order and his head on straight so that he can come back and they can be a team again.

So that they can be partners again.

Mac slides one of his legs out and taps the side of Jack's foot a couple of times with his own and Jack looks back up.

"You don't get to do crazy without me, old man. I'm not going to be able to concentrate and do what I need to do if I'm worrying about you."

Jack huffs out a genuine laugh at his own words being used against him. "And here I thought you never listen to me."

"Oh, I listen," Mac states.

"You just have selective hearing is all, I guess, right?" Jack drawls and Mac's mouth tips up into a brief smirk before he grows serious once more.

"You go kaboom, I go kaboom… Those are the rules. You don't get to change them. You remember what you just told me about emotions blinding a person? Promise me, Jack. Promise me you are going to keep yourself safe."

Jack immediately nods his head in agreement. The last thing he wants is for Mac to be worrying about him; the kid has enough on his plate without Jack adding to it.

"Uh uh… Say it. You've never gone back on a promise you've made to me, ever. I want to hear you say the words, Jack."

"I promise, Mac," Jack say solemnly, nodding his head again.

It's not an empty promise. Jack does mean the pledge he's giving to his partner. He knows full well just how much of a mess he is. It's taking everything he has to hold at bay the struggle that is going on inside of him. He also knows that he's ruled by his emotions, that his 'gut feelings' and his 'spidey sense' in equal parts make him the successful agent that he is as much as they have led to the multiple permanent disciplinary marks on his dossier. But it's going to be a case of _'do as I say and not as I do'_ because Jack can't change who he is, how he acts, or how he reacts.

Despite all that, though, despite feeling like nothing makes sense anymore and that he's stuck in the vortex of a whirlwind, he's not about to pull some kamikaze stunt. His job is to take care of Mac…

That's not even a job anymore, hasn't been for a very, very, long time; it's who he is, what he does. And he can't do that, can't execute the plan that's starting to formulate in his brain, the one that will hopefully bring Mac back to them—back to _him_ —if he gets himself killed.

Beyond that… Well, there are no guarantees in the line of work they are in; they do what needs to be done... And Jack plans on doing just that so that Mac can have the peace and the life he deserves. So he gives Mac the only promise that he can and will let the chips fall where they will on the rest.

"I promise you that I will stay safe. Okay?"

Mac doesn't answer him right away; instead, blue eyes lock onto his. Jack holds Mac's gaze. He doesn't look away, or change or alter his expression in any way. Just sits calmly and let's Mac search for the truth to Jack's words. After a handful of heartbeats, Mac nods his head, slips his scissors out of his knife, and proceeds to cut open the plastic packaging of the phone.

"Okay. I'm holding you to that, you know."

"I wouldn't expect it any other way. Now, how 'bout we finish getting you all packed up and put together, hmm?" The cheer that's in Jack's voice is all false bravado; they both know it, but Mac doesn't call him on it and for that, Jack is grateful. "There's only so long that I can ignore all the messages that are currently blowing up my phone before the rest of the family disobeys my order to stand down and start stormin' the castle."

Mac's hands still suddenly, scissors stopping mid-cut, and Jack doesn't need to be a brianiac like his partner to know the cause.

"Mac… Out of everything I've said just now, if you remember just one thing… I want to remember this," Jack says quietly.

He's talking to the top of Mac's blonde head. His partner hasn't looked up and Jack doesn't ask him too. The air between them feels fragile, delicate, like the slightest of breezes will shatter everything and the walls will all come crumbling down around them both; which is why Jack doesn't make the request of Mac to raise his head and look at him.

He knows that there is no way that he's going to be able to school his expression, that not even all of his immense training is going to stop the emotions from showing and that doing this face to face will break them both.

"No matter what decisions you feel you need to make, Angus… No matter where your travels take you or how long…" Jack's voice breaks on those words, but he doesn't stop. His Texas accent is thick, throat tight. His voice low and rumbling as he continues, needing to get this all out in one go. But more important is the need for Mac to hear this, to not forget any of it.

To _believe_ it.

"…Or how long you're gone; you have got a family, right here, Mac. No matter the miles, or anything that you say, or anything that you do… Nothing is _ever_ gonna change that. We've all got your back and if you need anything— _anything at all_ —you just give a shout and we're all there for you, no questions asked."

Mac sits in silence. His careful, measured breathes are the only sound in the room. Head still bowed, his body is still. Even his hands, ever in motion, are simply lying in his lap; the only outward indication of the effects of Jack's words is the white-knuckled grip that he has on the plastic packaging gripped in his hand.

When he finally does look back up, Jack knows that the expression on Mac's face, the haunt of a shadow in his eyes is reflected back at him in his own. Neither of them says anything, but they speak volumes; words haven't been necessary between for a very long time.

Jack winks at Mac, tips his mouth into a warm, encouraging smile as he nods his head. God, he loves this kid so much. He extends his right hand, balls it into a fist, and holds it knuckles out and waits for Mac to do the same and purposely doesn't let himself think about this being yet another item on his ever-growing list of _never agains_. Eventually Mac lifts his own hand, curls his fingers in, and knocks his fist against Jack's.

 _We're good_ , this one says.

Individually they may be broken, lost and adrift, but together they are strong, unbreakable.

And like everything else they have faced and survived, this will be no different… Jack will make sure of it.


End file.
